Temporal Loop
by The Cheshire Cheese
Summary: "I've trapped your crew in a temporal loop. They keep experiencing the last thirty seconds over and over." Q Junior's arrival couldn't have come at a worse time for Chakotay and Seven of Nine, who happened to be experiencing a very awkward thirty-seconds when the time-loop began.


**A/N: I've just discovered that the episode "Q2" directly follows "Human Error." Which makes for some juicy C/7 possibilities. **

**Special thanks, yet again, to "Chrssie's Transcripts Site" and "Memory Alpha." **

**I don't own "Star Trek: Voyager."**

* * *

Seven of Nine was in neither Astrometrics nor the Cargo Bay when Chakotay made his morning rounds. Rechecking the duty roster, he realized this shouldn't surprise him. Seven had today off, so there was no reason she had to be anywhere in particular. But she was still one of his stops, as he needed her update on Astrometrics. Chakotay liked to get his rounds done in a timely manner, and quickly asked the computer to locate her. As it happened, she was on the holodeck, which was right in the direction he was heading.

He considered alerting Seven of his arrival over the comm., and asking her if there was any reason for him not to interrupt her. But against his better judgment, he decided to simply surprise her. It was Seven of Nine. What would she possibly be doing on the holodeck that she wouldn't want him walking in on? The worst possible scenario he could fathom was her being mildly embarrassed to be caught in the middle of some extracurricular activity, like sculpting with clay in Da Vinci's studio, or practicing her Velocity skills. Maybe, he thought jokingly, working on her singing, in that glistening black dress she'd worn in the WWII program three or four years earlier.

Chakotay stopped a chuckle, turning a corner. He liked the image of Seven of Nine caught in the middle of some "irrelevant" emotional exercise, almost more than the image of her with her hair down. Her recalled B'Elanna's description of his "twisted" sense of humor. It had taken Chakotay years to understand what B'Elanna had meant by that. Chakotay's jokes consisted mostly of dry banter and clichéd racial humor. But he also had a tendency to mess with people. Like the time he assigned poor Harry Kim to work with Seven, right after Harry's most awkward conversation with the former drone about his crush on her. Or when he'd recently arranged for Neelix to bunk up with Tuvok, when Voyager was putting up that Klingon crew. Well, if Tuvok and Harry could handle his "twisted humor," Seven certainly could.

She hadn't put much effort into locking the holodeck doors, and knowing Seven of Nine, if this program was anything seriously private, she certainly would have. Chakotay keyed in his command override, and stepped into the program. He was surprised to find himself in what looked like a set of Voyager quarters. This must be one of the social programs the Doctor used to train her. Chakotay immediately felt guilty about intruding, and decided to greet her as gently as possible, whenever she showed up. Hearing some small noises, he realized she was in the washroom.

He gave a quick glance around the quarters. It was much more personal, _human_, than anything he'd expected from Seven. Which was ridiculous of him; she'd come a long way in four years. But even so… A piano, a framed photo of a colorful nebula, and was that a dream catcher over the bed? Who would have given her that? Chakotay ran through the handful of Native American crewmembers he knew on Voyager (who "counted" was up for debate, as most humans nowadays were "mutts"), and none of them, as far as he knew, were at all close with Seven. His eyes moved on to a framed picture of her parents on the wall. He recognized them immediately, from the neural link he'd shared with her when severing her from the Collective.

Chakotay's guilt was overwhelming him now, and he turned quickly to leave the holodeck. As fate would have it, that was the exact moment that Seven exited the washroom.

"Chakotay."

He froze. Had Seven ever, once, called him by his name, without his rank in front of it?

He slowly turned around. "Seven?"

She looked unlike Chakotay had ever seen her. She was wearing a loose, pale blue bathrobe, her wet hair falling around her shoulders. Her eye implant glistened with moisture form the sonic shower, and Chakotay was surprised to find that he found the sight endearing. Overall, her attire and hair reminded him strongly of her nightclub singer persona from the WWII program. He gapped at her, while she simply stared at him impassively, as if he'd been expected.

Almost irritably, she said, "I wasn't expecting you for another forty-one minutes."

"I…didn't realize you'd been expecting me at all."

Moving past him, she replied dryly, "The Doctor may be correct about your boxing simulation. A sport involving fewer blows to your head might be in order."

_What the hell? _

He watched her cross the room to a dresser. Chakotay had no idea what she was on about. But he knew better than to dismiss this as Seven simply back-sassing her superior officer. Obviously something was wrong with her. Again. He just hoped to god whatever it was wasn't affecting half the crew. Again.

"Seven," he asked carefully, "Are you feeling alright?"

He hoped she was able to read the subtext: _What is it this time, Crewman: a malfunctioning implant? Radiation? Mind-meld gone wrong? Alien possession? _

"My condition hasn't changed since our last discussion," she said, opening a drawer and pulling out her solid-blue biosuit. She didn't look at him, but seemed to be speaking with absolute seriousness, as if this were a very personal matter. "You agreed to restart our relationship from the beginning, with less pressure. You _agreed_ that this would be nothing more than an experiment, 'no strings attached' as you yourself put it."

Chakotay could only imagine what his face must look like right now. He'd been told that when he was surprised, he looked—how did Ensign Brooks put it?—"fatiguely stunned."

"Did you say 'relationship?'" Chakotay finally managed.

Seven paused, then turned to look at him. Underneath the long wet hair and robe, the expression was the same one he'd seen Seven of Nine dish out countless times, when she believed she'd just been asked an unforgivably stupid question.

"No." she finally said, as if she'd just made the decision. "Returning to this scenario was a mistake. Computer, deactivate holographic characters."

The computer replied, "_No holographic characters have been activated_."

Seven froze. Were it any other woman, her eyes would probably have flared in horror. Seven simply remained statuesque.

Chakotay hesitantly lifted the PADD in his hand. "I was just doing my daily rounds, and I—"

Suddenly, she was gone. And so was the washroom.

No, Seven and the washroom weren't gone. They were just behind him now. He was facing the door again. The room had somehow moved. Hesitantly, he turned around. Seven, somehow, was back in the washroom. He could hear her milling about in there.

"Seven?"

She didn't emerge, but he heard her shaking voice. "Commander?"

"Seven what's going on?"

She didn't respond right away.

"Seven?" he moved towards the washroom, but stopped just short of entering. "Seven, are you alright?"

"Commander, are you…real?"

Chakotay instinctively glanced down at himself. "I think so. I'm not a hologram if that's what you're asking." No response. "Seven I'm sorry, I didn't mean…I shouldn't have intruded. I had no idea what you were doing in here. I assumed you were just….I'm sorry." Luckily, he had a more than acceptable excuse to change the subject. "Any idea why the program just rewound itself?"

Her voice reverted to its usual professionalism. "The holodeck may be malfunctioning. Computer, end program."

The holographic quarters dissolved. Seven slowly turned to face him, tying her robe tightly, attempting to cover herself as modestly as possible. She hadn't been wearing a holographic costume, then. Her clothing was real. Glancing behind him, he saw her blue biosuit now sitting on the floor. It was perfectly folded up, as if it had been sitting in the drawer when the program had ended. But hadn't Seven unfolded it? A holodeck malfunction would explain how they seemed to have changed positions in the room, but how would that affect real clothing Seven had brought from outside?

"Are you sure this is a holodeck malfunction?" he asked.

"I never said that it was," she pointed out. "I merely suggested it as a possibility."

Chakotay recalled how, recently, the ship had been shattered into a number of time periods, from Voyager's past and present. Piecing the ship back together had been as much of a headache as an adventure. He wondered if a similar time paradox was at work.

Looking back at her folded biosuit, he realized, "There might be more at work here than a holodeck malfunction."

"Indeed." Seven passed him and gathered up her biosuit. "I'll report to Astrometrics and investigate."

Chakotay nodded. Watching her stand there, holding her suit uncomfortably, he realized now was time for him to leave. "I'll be making my rounds. Let me know what you find." Before exiting the holodeck he stopped, intending to offer her another apology for intruding. But instead, he found himself eyeing her robe and saying, "That's a good color for you."

He immediately regretted it. The poor woman looked devastated.

"Commander," she stammered, "I—"

Her quarters were back.

Chakotay was facing the door again.

"_Seven?!_"

He jogged to the wash room just as Seven came hurrying out, and they practically collided. They stopped just inches from each other. For a moment, Chakotay was overcome with the powerful urge to grab Seven and press her dripping wet body against his. So much for keeping his thoughts professional.

"Commander," Seven asked softly, "What's going on?"

"I've no idea." Chakotay hit his comm. badge. "Chakotay to the Bridge."

"_Tuvok here Commander_."

"Tuvok, is there anything unusual going on with Voyager that you know of?"

"_Indeed. We were just discussing it, and I was preparing to contact the captain. The readings at every officer's station appear to have repeated themselves, twice now, by a margin of thirty-seconds._"

"The holodeck's been doing the same thing. Anything else?"

"_Not that I—"_

"_Yes!_" Tom Paris's voice suddenly cut in. "_Maybe I'm going crazy but I swear, my arm's somehow moved by itself, twice now!_"

Chakotay shook his head. "Can you rephrase that Tom?"

"_A few seconds ago, maybe a minute ago, I leaned back in my chair and sort of, you know, draped my arm over my…arm. Of my chair. Not very Starfleet I know, but it's been a slow shift. At first it thought I was zoning out, but I know I only had my arm there for a second, and then brought both hands back to my consol. But twice now I've sud_—"

Chakotay felt a disorienting jolt, and found himself facing Seven's door yet again.

Seven's voice echoed from the washroom, "This is no holodeck malfunction."

The bizarre scenario repeated itself seven or eight times, before Chakotay gave up trying to keep count. By now, he and Seven had had a hefty discussion with Tuvok, Tom, and the officers on the Bridge, speculating what the hell might be going on. Several times they attempted to contact Captain Janeway, but somehow, her channel wasn't working.

For the umpteenth time, Chakotay pounded his comm. badge. "Chakotay to Janeway!"

"Efforts to contact her are obviously futile," Seven's voice echoed from the washroom.

"Should we bother trying to contact _anyone_?" Chakotay sighed, placing his hands on his hips, as Seven exited the washroom.

"Perhaps not," Seven decided. "This may be someone else's story."

He looked at her curiously. "Seven?"

"An…analogy, the Doctor proposed. Many of the notable events Voyager has experienced have involved certain individuals more than others. He proposed that each individual is the protagonist of their own narrative, at certain points of their lives." She seemed slightly embarrassed. "He was attempting to assure me that my assistance was not always needed. That at times, I might trust the safety of the ship to you, the captain, Lt. Torres, or whomever was best suited to resolve the conflict. The 'hero' of the 'story.' At times, each of us may be the 'protagonist,' but much of the time, we are merely 'supporting characters,' as it were."

Chakotay gave it some thought. "Maybe the captain's the one fixing the temporal malfunction this time. Would explain why we can't reach her."

"Commander?"

"Never mind. Temporal prime directive." He glanced around the quarters. "So what is this program? Experimenting with traditional quarters? If you're thinking of requesting some, I happen to know that we have at least three opened up. I'm sure the captain—"

"I cannot live outside the Cargo Bay unless we have the means to transport a regeneration alcove into a set of traditional quarters."

Chakotay's heart sank, and he realized that this program was not a true experiment, but a fantasy.

Seemingly anticipating his thoughts, Seven explained, "I thought that by living as a fully-human member of this crew, I might better understand—"

_Again! _

Seven, back in the shower. Chakotay, facing the door. This time, he didn't bother trying to move.

From the washroom, Seven finished, "…human social structure."

"So you designed a reality where…"

"I was fully human. That was the initial scenario of this program." She didn't emerge from the shower. He got the sense that she was leaning against the door as she spoke. "I programmed myself a traditional Starfleet uniform, redesigned the arrangement of my hair follicles, and concealed my cybernetic implants."

Chakotay glanced at the dresser, where he knew her blue biosuit waited. "But you were getting your usual biosuit. And your implants are still visible."

"I altered the scenario to bear a closer resemblance to reality."

"And that included," he tugged his ear nervously, "a 'less serious relationship?'"

No answer.

"Commander," Seven finally stammered, "I… would like you to be aware that I…did not have intimate relations with your hologram."

Chakotay chuckled. "Alright, President Clinton."

"President Clinton?"

"Never mind." Chakotay found himself repeating. "Ask Tom Paris."

It was Tom who'd educated Chakotay and Captain Janeway on the Clinton scandal, the time they'd all traveled to 1990s Los Angeles.

The room shifted again. This time, it was barely noticeable, at least for Chakotay, because he hadn't moved from his initial position. Even so, Chakotay felt the need to rub the bridge of his nose. He could already feel the headache starting up.

"To be perfectly honest Seven, I've been doing pretty much the same thing for the last week or two. Rehearsing in my mind how to ask you out, and how our dates might go. That's what most humans do. Most of us just don't do it quite so…" he glanced again around the quarters, with an arched eyebrow to rival Seven's. "…efficiently."

"Commander,"

"_Chakotay_," he insisted. "You're off-duty after all."

"You're still my superior officer."

"And a human being. As are you."

He hoped these were the words that would coax her out of the washroom, but she didn't budge.

Timidly she said, "I realize I've earned your trust. But I didn't realize I'd earned your affections as well."

"You've earned the 'affections' of half the men on this ship."

"But you are not like the majority of men on this ship."

Silence.

"Is that a fact?" he finally asked.

Her voice rose, just slightly. "I do not wish to discuss this any further."

His heart began sinking rapidly. "Why not? If you've been..._imagining_ a relationship, why don't…?"

"I was not 'imagining,' I was merely _experimentin_g with possibilities."

"That's…what dating _is_, Seven!" Nervously he laughed. "I'm not asking you to marry me!"

But suddenly, he found himself imagining exactly that. That was the kind of premature speculation someone his age would claim to have grown out of, while secretly doing it during every other relationship.

"Commander," Seven sounded like she was trying to explain a difficult concept to him. "How old were you, when you began to _anticipate_ your first relationship? Not engage in it, but _fantasize_ about it?"

"I got off to an early start. I guess I was about twelve when I started seriously _fantasizing_ about dating."

"And suppose someone _asked_ you for a date, just as you were beginning to entertain the possibility. Would you have been prepared?"

Damn. He recalled that she was still only four years away from the frightened child who'd been assimilated on her sixth birthday.

Chakotay licked his lips uncomfortably. "You seem so mature in every other way. I guess I've started to forget—"

The room suddenly vanished in a silver flash.

Then, suddenly, Chakotay and Seven stood in the hall, in their regular uniforms. Seven was completely dry, in her blue biosuit, with every strand of her golden hair bound back up.

"_Tuvok to Chakotay_,"

"On my way Tuvok!" Chakotay replied, before the Vulcan could even request his presence at the Bridge.

Before turning down the hall, Chakotay apologized one more time. "Seven, I can't tell you enough how sorry I am for intruding."

She refused to meet his eye. "It is I who should be apologizing. My program was not appropriate."

"I already told you, we all rehearse relationships in our minds before we're ready to make a move."

"Which I am not. I would prefer to keep things professional for now."

Chakotay smiled eagerly. "How long is 'for now?'"

His smile vanished when he saw her breathe deeply, clearly agitated. "I don't have a timeframe in mind. I'll alert you when I do."

He couldn't tell if she was being literal or not. Seven had learned a lot about sarcasm, mostly from B'Elanna, and utilized it to its fullest.

Matching her half-ironic tone, he pointed out, "If we have an away mission together before then, it's going to be damned awkward."

"Not if we abide by protocol. I suggest purging this conversation from our memories."

Chakotay wanted to snap back that he wasn't a drone, and couldn't just flip some Borg switch and empty unwanted memories—how useful life would be if he could—but she was already stalking down the hall, clearly not in the mood to discuss this any further. If he hadn't been first officer, he might have given in to the temptation to shout his thoughts after her, and maybe ask if Borg drones experienced menstrual cycles. Then again, that last question would be a very bad idea, first officer or not. So he just stood in the hall, watching her stiffly turn the corner.

Chakotay felt numb and not a bit nauseated as he made his way to the Bridge. Somehow, finding out that Seven of Nine returned his affections was as terrifying as whatever had just caused that time loop. When Chakotay reached the Bridge, the Captain was speaking with Tuvok at his station. The sight of the Vulcan reminded Chakotay that it was time to bury his emotions (was that racist?) and as usual, Chakotay accomplished this almost as a Vulcan would have. Not a single person on the bridge suspected that he'd just had a personal discussion about dating with Seven of Nine, while dripping wet in her bathrobe.

"Captain?" Chakotay asked. "What's going on?"

_And please_, he asked the Great Spirit, _can it be something big enough to take my mind off that conversation with Seven? _

Janeway looked like she'd just started her morning to discover the ship was out of coffee. "We've been asked to baby-sit."

Kathryn Janeway usually seemed to like children, so Chakotay had to assume that her tone indicated a great deal of irony.

"By who?" he asked.

"Q."

_Oh, hell. _

"Q?"

"You remember our last encounter with the Continuum," Janeway said dryly.

"How could I forget."

Chakotay watched the reactions across the Bridge. Tom looked like he couldn't decide whether to laugh or cry. Ayala was slowly dipping into a face-palm. He clearly saw Andrews mouth an obscenity to himself.

Janeway nodded to Tuvok at Tactical. "Anything?"

Tuvok's hands flew over his consol. "I'm not detecting either Q."

"I want to be alerted if they resurface," she ordered. "Keep running scans."

"Scan, scan, scan. That's all you people ever do."

The resemblance was striking. The young man who'd suddenly appeared before them was a spitting image of the infamous Q who'd introduced Picard to the Borg, and transformed Voyager into a Christmas ornament. He not only resembled his father physically, but seemed to channel his arrogant attitude.

"I've been through every deck on this ship, and you know what I've seen? Bipeds, pushing buttons. Bipeds, replacing relays. Bipeds running diagnostics! When are you going to do something interesting?"

With no enthusiasm, Janeway announced, "Say hello to Q, everyone."

Q followed the captain back to her chair. "We could fly into Fluidic Space and fight Species 8472…"

_Well,_ Chakotay admitted to himself, _this should take our minds off things…_

* * *

**A/N: "Q2," unfortunately, takes place a few episodes **_**before**_** "Natural Law," and Seven and Chakotay clearly weren't dating yet in that episode. Hence, the abrupt, unsatisfying ending to this tale. **


End file.
